It's pouring rain but we're warm and dry. We meander down streets to a small cafe and sit inside, drinking coffee and not saying much. A group of men appear in the front door, dripping wet, a guide wrangling them into a table near ours and describing their day.

"We can't fly the chopper in this weather, so we'll go through safety rules, practice avalanche rescue and get out for a hike in the afternoon. Can't say when it'll lift, we gotta just hope for tomorrow to get into the mountains".

We continue eavesdropping and gather that the group has flown here from Italy for a week of heli-skiing. Once the guide finishes his briefing one of the Italians walks up to us. He's seen our wind-burnt, sun-burnt, flushed faces and has his suspicions.

"Have you guys been skiing? Where?" he demands.

We give a nearly incoherent explanation of rafts and rivers and a storm and he leaves unsatisfied, pacing the cafe as rain pours down outside. I can't help but think how high his expectations are, and how unlikely they are to be met. He and his crew have flown half way around the world to go skiing, created tonnes of carbon dioxide, spent thousands of dollars and are stuck in a cloud, probably for the next few days. Somehow, the grass is always greener on the other side of the world. Springtime in Italy sounds nice right now.

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